Page 2 of Ravishing Camille
“Ah. Do not flatter me too much, Hanniford.” She pressed the flat of her hand to his chest where she was intrigued to feel his heart beat quickly. “We don’t want the world to think you’d be taken in by ruffles and lace.”
He put his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. But he glanced at his father. “I see while I’ve been gone you’ve taught her no diplomacy.”
“Aye, we try!” Killian sighed, an Irish rogue’s twinkle in his eyes, his brogue heavy in his words. “Our girl is too headstrong to be swayed by appeals to the ordinary.”
Camille stepped away from Pierce’s hold and shot open her parasol. “You two must learn to be more kind to a poor spinster who must make her way in the world.”
The two men feigned horror.
Pierce curled her arm in his. “Give over, my sweet, you are too delicious to leave alone.”
I dare not believe that.She’d rid herself of that delusion years ago. Ba! To him, she was a pest, worthy of teasing and easily left alone! “We’ll see how long you have that view of me, sir.”
He patted her hand. “I’ll have a long time, this time.”
She had to ask, had to know how long he’d remain in her sights, disrupting her life and fooling with her intentions. “How long do you stay?”
He scanned the horizon. “I haven’t decided yet.”
That made her wary. She had plans for her life that did not include focusing on him each day.
“I might just stay put this time.”
“In London?” Hope warred with sanity that he might remain close. Little good his proximity would do her, god help her.
He inhaled and pursed his magnificent lips. “There. Paris. New York. I’ve not been seen in any of those offices for more than three years. I must. I should.” Examining him, she found only mirth and good intentions.
Relief swept through her. She hated that it did. He had to leave. Would leave. He always did. Besides, she could count two probable suitors she could prefer and for good reasons, too. Both were stable, endearing. Neither liked to travel farther than Paris or Biarritz.
Killian scanned the dock. “Pierce, have you no valet?”
“No, sir. He became ill as we docked in Hong Kong and I left him there to recover. He’ll return home to Shanghai. I got on well enough without him. We trained the ship’s staff well in such services. I was fine.”
“So then your luggage, Pierce? How many pieces have you?”
“Four,” he told his father.
“Give me the tickets and I’ll arrange it.”
Pierce took them from his inside coat pocket and handed them over. “Two trunks in the hold. Two suitcases in my stateroom.”
Killian hailed a porter and gave him the tickets. “We are the silver grey coach marked with an H in the far alley. Bring them all to us.”
As Killian paid the porter, Pierce faced her with a dour expression. “I’m really very happy to see you, Camille. Glad you came. Very glad. I want so much to resume our friendship.”
Ah, yes. Friends. That was only what they were. “Unique wasn’t it?”
“Always.” He lifted a hand as if he meant to touch her face. But he paused midway. When they’d first met, he’d made a habit of tapping the end of her nose.
She arched her brows and lured him. “Go on!”
He laughed. “You’re older.”
“As are you. But do it!” She egged him on. “You won’t be happy until you do!”
“You’re quite smashing and my dear friend!” he said and touched her.
Like old brandy, this sparring between them filled her with happiness and a longing for more. She had to divert herself with some gay foolishness.
